


Lay and Wait on Me

by placentalmammal



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Healing, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vivienne helps Cassandra after she breaks a rib.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay and Wait on Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChocoChipBiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/gifts).



> I went a little off-prompt, but I really, really liked the image of Vivienne fussing over Cassandra's injuries and helping her into a bathtub.

Skyhold’s only fault, in Cassandra's opinion, was its lack of a proper training ground. A lonely fortress situated on a mountain did not have the luxury of excess space, and there was no room for the expansive training yards common in lowland castles. The Inquisition's forces camped in a bowl-shaped valley south of Skyhold, on the stony banks of a clear, glacial lake. The training yards lay in the valley as well, three hours down the mountain from Skyhold’s main gate.

To their foreign guests, Lady Josephine described the climb as “invigorating,” but in truth, it was simply exhausting. Three hours to climb an unending flight of stairs, hewn from the rock by ancient elves. Solas was quite smug about the quality of ancient elvish engineering; Cassandra thought that if they had been _really_ clever, they would have installed a lift.

Once or twice a week, she made the descent into the valley to train with the Inquisition’s rank-and-file. It was too easy to forget that the Inquisition was _people_ , rather than ideas, when one spent one’s time in private chambers in a drafty castle, surrounded by ambassadors and bureaucrats. There was a meditative quality to combat drills, and the exercise helped Cassandra to clear her mind during the long weeks and months when the Inquisitor ventured into the field without her. Drilling with the Inquisition's troops reminded her of her days as a young Seeker, freed from the weights and expectations of her bloodline, among her peers for the first time in her life.

She usually returned to Skyhold in high spirits, sore and mud-splattered and chilled to the bone, but relaxed and at-ease regardless. When she returned to her rooms, she cast off her armor, sank into a tub filled with hot water, and let the heat chase the aches from her muscles. When she learned of this ritual, Vivienne had given her a fine set of perfumed Orlesian bath oils.

Often, the promise of a hot bath was all that compelled her to climb the stairs to Skyhold. She enjoyed the soldiering life, but there was little to recommend bathing in icy lakes and shitting in ditches, especially after a long day of conditioning.

She sighed, exhausted, and returned her wooden practice sword to the barrel. As a young woman, she had trained with blunted steel, but the quartermaster insisted that metal was too dear to squander on weapons that would never see “real” use. Cassandra had argued that their troops needed to become comfortable with the weight and feel of steel blades, but Morris refused to back down. And really, it was typical of her luck for the boy to grow a spine just in time to stand in her way.

Up the mountain, her bathtub was calling. Skyhold had a rudimentary plumbing system, a relic from its time as an ancient elven fortress. It used pumps and gravity to draw water up from underground aquifers, and Dagna had modified the pipes so that the water passed through a boiler before it reached the spigots in the kitchen and bathrooms. According to the arcanist, Skyhold was one of the only buildings outside Orzammar with hot and cold running water. Cassandra fervently hoped that Corypheus would not drive them from it.

She stretched, and pain shot up all along her left side. She grit her teeth and circled her elbow to stretch her shoulder, wincing. That morning, she had taken a particularly hard, messy blow from an ox-like infantryman wielding a lead-cored practice sword. She’d caught his first strike with her shield, but his second had connected with her ribs and knocked her off her feet. The young man apologized profusely as he extended a hand to help her up, a look on his face like he was ready to mess his drawers. Cassandra had laughed, clapped him on the back, and congratulated him for getting in under her guard. The boy looked at her like she’d granted him a last-minute stay of execution.

Her injury hadn’t bothered her until they’d broken for lunch at noon. The healer had given her an elfroot tisane, and after lunch, she’d felt well enough to join the men for a three-mile run along the lake shore. Now, at the end of the day, she began to wonder whether she had cracked a rib. She sighed and looked up at the stairs to Skyhold, wishing that the Inquisitor had instead lead them to an abandoned fortress somewhere on the plains.

By the time she reached the main gate, she was dead on her feet. She had upgraded her ribs from ‘cracked’ to ‘broken,’ and resolved to see a healer as soon as she finished her bath. Climbing in and out of the tub would be problematic, but she had a private store of elfroot draughts, and the healer would no-doubt give her something stronger when they set her ribs.

She sighed and climbed the final set of steps into the main hall. She had expected to slip in, unnoticed, but Lady Montilyet was waiting by the door, shadowed by a footman in de Chalons livery. “Lady Cassandra!” cried Josephine. Her tone was light and airy as a butterfly, but she held her writing board as though she were ready to snap it in half. Cassandra knew her well enough to hear a warning in her words, hidden like a stiletto in an evening gown. “This man has requested an audience with you. He would not be deterred from speaking with you directly.”

The footman deftly sidestepped Josephine and bowed. “A missive, Lady Cassandra, direct from Her Grace, the Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons.” He sniffed. “I was instructed to deliver it personally into your hands.” He bowed again and extended a silver tray, on which sat an envelope of thick, creamy parchment.

Cassandra turned on the footman, scowling. “You should have left it with Lady Montilyet.”

Behind his mask, the footman blanched. “My instructions--” he began.

She cut him off with a gesture, ribs throbbing. “I don’t care! I am a busy woman, as is Lady Montilyet, and you have wasted both of our time.”

“My sincerest apologies, Lady Cassandra,” he said. “Her Grace asked me to ensure that you received her invitation--”

“You are dismissed."

The foorman spluttered indignantly. “But Lady, your response--”

“Leave!”

The footman bowed hastily and scuttled away, unwilling to press his luck as Cassandra tore into the envelope.

Josephine sighed. “Really Cassandra, you must use a lighter hand in dealing with representatives of the imperial family. If Her Grace takes offense, my efforts in Orlais could come to nothing!"

“The game tries my patience," she said, shaking the letter free of the envelope. She held it at arm's length, and frowning. “What is this?”

It was an invitation, handwritten in an elaborate script. She squinted at it suspiciously and allowed Josephine to take it from her hands. “The Grand Duchess has invited you to a garden party,” she said, her voice laced with confusion.

“She means to marry you off to her brother.” Josephine and Cassandra turned to see Madam Vivienne descending the stairs from her loft. “Gaspard believes that he can strengthen his claim to the Orlesian throne by marrying a Pentaghast, the silly boy.” She joined them, positioning herself close to the fire, and looked Cassandra up and down. “My dear, you look dreadful! We must find you a hot bath before you collapse!”

“He _what_?” said Cassandra, just as Josephine recovered from her shock.

“But Markus is in no position to tender military support to Gaspard,” said Josephine. “Even if he were, Cassandra is only a distant relation! He would do better to set his sights on the Archon’s daughters, or one of the Anders princesses.” She paused thoughtfully, tapping her quill against her writing board. “Celene herself would be a better match, and she has already refused him once!”

“Precisely, my dear,” said Vivienne, “But Gaspard has always been so reluctant to discard an original idea, since he has so few of them.” Her comment earned a snort from Cassandra and a scandalized “ _Madame Vivienne!_ ” from Josephine, but she ignored them both, taking Cassandra’s arm. “But this is not the appropriate venue to discuss the matter. Josephine, darling, please excuse us, I simply _must_ see Cassandra to her room.”

“Of course, Madame Vivienne!” Josephine said. “I must find out whether His Grace _does_ intend to court Lady Cassandra. I have a great many letters to write, I’m afraid.” She sighed, dipped a curtsy, and left for her office in a rustle of silk and lace.

Vivienne waited until Josephine was out of earshot to say, “I think you handled the footman rather nicely, my dear.” She patted Cassandra’s hand and steered her across the crowded hall, towards the castle’s residential wing.

“Thank you,” said Cassandra, voice leaden with exhaustion.

“He’s a revolting little toad with odious manners,” Vivienne said, speaking softly to thwart eavesdroppers. “Florianne sets him on all the inexperienced Players, people who don’t know to send him away.” She favored Cassandra with a smile. “You’re quite lucky to have Lady Montilyet to look out for you.”

“We would all be lost without Josephine.” Cassandra held the door to the residential wing open for Vivienne, then leaned on the mage for support as they climbed another staircase. She winced with each step, her shoulder and rib cage throbbing. “Myself and Cullen most especially.”

“Mmm, I don’t think Cullen quite realizes how fortunate we are to have her,” said Vivienne. “He is rather like Gaspard, at times.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I think I would go mad without Cullen to talk to,” she said. “He shares my views on a great many things.”

“He is not without his charms,” agreed Vivienne, squeezing Cassandra’s hand. “But you are far cleverer, my dear.”

Cassandra couldn’t suppress a smile. “Flatterer.”

When they reached Cassandra’s rooms, Vivienne steered her to a chair by the fireplace. She turned to open the flue, then snapped her fingers. Flames burst into life inside the firebox, filling the small room with heat and flickering light. “Rest a moment, dear,” she said, brushing Cassandra’s inky hair back off her forehead. “I’ll prepare your bath.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra said, letting her eyes droop shut as the fire’s heat washed over her. She put her feet on the hearth and wriggled her toes inside her boots, trying to chase the chill from her bones. In the adjacent room, Vivienne hummed a waltz, her sweet voice barely audible over the crackling fire. Steam, smelling strongly of lilacs, filled the room. Cassandra groaned, impatient.  
Vivienne reappeared in the doorway, bringing with her a gust of warm, sweet-smelling air. “Patience, darling,” she said, extending her arm.

Cassandra took hold of Vivienne’s hand and hauled herself to a standing position, wincing. She sighed wearily as Vivienne undid the buttons on her armored coat, sliding it off her shoulders with the utmost care. “You were limping the whole way up the steps,” she said, voice pitched low with concern. “Did you injure yourself?”

“My ribs, yes,” she said, sighing in relief to be free of the heavy garment. “It is no matter. I’ll speak with one of the healers tomorrow.”

“How will you sleep?” Vivienne said. Her fingers moved deftly over the buttons on Cassandra’s tunic. “You’ll have to raise your arms over your head, dear,” she said.

Cassandra lifted her arms and bit back a groan. “I have let worse injuries go untended for longer,” she said, as Vivienne pulled the shirt over her head. “I’ll manage.” Freed from her shirt, Cassandra examined her bruise. It looked much worse than she had imagined; purple and swollen, two handspans wide, stretching from hip to underarm. “Maker!”

Vivienne gasped. “Cassandra! How did you manage the stairs like this?”

“I don’t know.” She prodded her ribs and winced.

Vivienne swatted her hand away, as one might a child. “Allow me,” she said drily.

Cassandra nodded, and Vivienne set her hand flat against the bruised flesh. Cassandra hissed in pain, and an icy blue light filled the room, flaring and fading with an audible scrape of bone against bone. She cried out, unprepared for the sudden, sharp pain as Vivienne set the bone. When she removed her hand, Cassandra was pleased to see that the swelling had gone down considerably.  
“That will do for now,” Vivienne said. “Enough to see you through the night, at least.”

“Thank you.” The bruise pain had eased and the bruise had faded, restoring much of Cassandra's range of motion. She was able to remove her boots and trousers unaided.

Vivienne gathered up Cassandra’s discarded clothing and set it in a basket by the hearth, then helped her into the bathroom. Cassandra clung to her for support as she climbed into the tub, one leg at a time. With Vivienne’s help, she lowered herself into the hot water, sighing in satisfaction.

“Lovely.” She closed her eyes and leaned back, resting her head against the rim of the rub. “Absolutely lovely.”

“You deserve it, dear,” Vivienne said. She settled herself on the ground beside the copper tub, then undid Cassandra’s braid and scooped a handful water over her head. She worked her fingers through Cassandra’s hair to loosen the dirt and tangles, then dotted her palms with soap and began massaging her scalp. Cassandra sighed in satisfaction, utterly relaxed, and Vivienne began to hum another waltz.

“Tell me,” Cassandra said after a long, blissful minute of silence. “Must I attend this garden party?”

“Heavens, no,” said Vivienne. She poured another handful of water over Cassandra’s hair. “Not unless you wish to encourage Gaspard’s scheming.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, sinking deeper into the water. “I was afraid that Josephine would insist.”

“She might, but you would do well to refuse. The Inquisition cannot afford to alienate _any_ of the Imperial family.” Vivienne shook the excess water from her hands, then dried them on a linen hand towel. “Celene would be unhappy to see the Inquisition make such an obvious show of favor toward her cousin.”

“Good,” Cassandra said. “I look forward to refusing that horrid little man.”

Vivienne laughed. “I hope to be there when you do.” She kissed Cassandra's cheek, then rested her chin on Cassandra's shoulder. The Seeker sighed and leaned into her, careful not to slosh water on the other woman’s clothing. The healing and the warm water had done her a world of good, easing her strain and leaving her loose-limbed and relaxed. Cassandra kissed Vivienne’s cheek, sighing contentedly.

She lingered in the bath for almost an hour, dozing in the warm water while Vivienne wrote letters, her quill scratching against parchment. Dagna had scratched a fire runes into the bottom of the stone tub, enchanting it to retain heat for hours at a time. Someday, Cassandra resolved, she would test the upper limits of the tub’s capabilities, but that night, she only wanted to sleep.

Once again, Vivienne offered her arm. Cassandra clambered out of the tub awkwardly, sloshing water onto the stone floor; Vivienne pretended not to notice. She kissed her cheek and helped her dress for bed. They lingered in Cassandra's double bed for a while, kissing and talking, until Vivienne cleared her throat. "The hour's getting late," she said, extracting herself from Cassandra's arms.

Cassandra clutched at her, extending a wordless invitation to stay the night, but Vivienne refused her with a fond smile. “You need your rest,” she said. “Good night.”

Cassandra didn’t have the energy to protest. Vivienne gave her a final kiss and stood to leave. She wrapped herself in Cassandra's discarded overrobe and closed the door softly behind her. Without her lover to distract her from her weariness, Cassandra dropped into a deep, healing sleep. Tomorrow, she would visit the healer and tender her refusal to Florianne, but tonight, she would dream of Vivienne’s dark eyes and musical laughter.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Worthy of Poetry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934135) by [hibernate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/pseuds/hibernate)




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